


Of Hugs and Drinking Songs

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras just wants a hug but doesn't know how to ask for one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hugs and Drinking Songs

All Enjolras wanted was a hug. Today had been particularly rough in terms of planning the revolution, and he was worn out. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, as a rousing chorus of Chevalier De La Table Ronde rang out from across the room. Plans were spread out over the table in front of him but he couldn’t focus on them. His mind was too full of plans and preparations, almost as if one had opened a box and tried to pour too much sand into it. He rubbed his eyes; they stung from poring over maps of Paris and detailed accounts of past revolutions. A headache was building behind his temples and he felt extremely run-down. He just wanted a hug or some form of affection that wasn’t a sexual innuendo, as was so often directed at him by Grantaire or Courfeyrac.

“Can you all shut up, please!” he snapped eventually, his patience worn thin. The chatter stopped, along with the drinking song, which, as much as Enjolras loved drinking songs, was beginning to grate on his nerves.

“Are you alright, Enjolras?” asked Jehan carefully, setting down his tankard.

“I’m fine, but you are all being absolutely deafening,” he said tightly, closing a few books and standing up. The last thing he saw before he stormed down the stairs and outside was Combeferre, looking like a kicked puppy. He felt bad, but it wasn’t like it was his fault if they were giving him a headache.

Once outside, he leaned against the wall of the Musain, breathing in the cool night air. It helped, but it didn’t alleviate the headache altogether. He could hear footsteps in the cafe and he sighed. Wonderful, they’d sent someone to check on him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Courfeyrac asked from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes.” _No_.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” _Yes_.

“Do you want a hug?”

“No.” _Yes_.

“Come upstairs, we’ll be quieter.” Enjolras followed Courf reluctantly up the stairs. The entire room was standing and watching silently. He paused in his walk back to the wooden chair in the corner.

“What?” Then they all surged forward, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Joly, Marius, Grantaire, Combeferre, Bossuet, Bahorel, and even little Gavroche. Before he could so much as squeak, they were all hugging him, squishing him. Enjolras was entirely prepared to push them all off and tell them to _neverdothatagaineverwhatthehellwereyouthinking_ , but he felt Grantaire tracing patterns on his back, and Gavroche was wrapped around his legs, and Jehan had his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. It felt nice, if a bit cramped, and when everyone let go, he found that he was no longer in such a bad mood.


End file.
